


Rescue 77 Season 2/Episode 2 "Riding Tailboard"

by Firebuff51 (DCMUFics)



Series: Rescue 77-Season 2 [2]
Category: Rescue 77
Genre: Action/Adventure, California, Drama, EMS, Emergency Medical Technicians, Fire, Firefighters, Gen, Humor, Los Angeles, Medical Trauma, Rescue, Season/Series 02, paramedics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 17:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12846096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DCMUFics/pseuds/Firebuff51
Summary: Wick is left to find himself a new roommate when Bell and Megan move in together. A sick firefighter means Wick is forced to ride with "friendly" rival Bridges. The paramedics have to contend with a large dog protecting its unconscious owner.





	Rescue 77 Season 2/Episode 2 "Riding Tailboard"

**Rescue 77**

 

**Season 2-Episode 2**

 

**Previously, in "Rescue 77"...**

 

The paramedics of Rescue 77 began their shift by responding to a suicide and ended it by helping bring a baby into the world. Bell and Megan worked out their differences. Wick and Bridges continued their firefighter vs. paramedic rivalry.

 

Friday. 7:49 am.

 

Captain Durfee stood in the fire station's kitchen sipping coffee and watching Wick Lobo aggressively make a sandwich.

 

Wick slapped meat onto a piece of bread, followed by two slices of cheese.

He opened a bottle of hot sauce and drizzled the red liquid over his creation.

 

"Isn't it a little early for a sandwich, Wick?" asked Durfee.

 

"I didn't get a chance to eat breakfast before I came in," replied Wick, not looking up as he slapped another piece of meat onto the sandwich.

 

“Something you want to get off your chest, son?”

 

“Naw, I'm fine.”

 

“Okay,” the captain sighed as he strolled out of the kitchen. “Lineup's in ten minutes.”

 

Kathleen Ryan walked in, tucking in her navy blue uniform shirt.

 

“Wick? Isn't it a little early for...”

 

“I skipped breakfast!” Wick snapped.

 

“Okay, sorry.”

 

His shoulders sank.

 

“I'm sorry, Ryan,” he sighed, glancing up at her. “I'm just in a bad mood.”

 

Ryan poured herself a cup of coffee.

 

“I can see that. Any particular reason?”

 

“Me. I'm the reason.” Michael Bell walked in.

 

Wick scowled at him before spreading a layer of potato chips on his sandwich. He pressed the second slice of bread on top with a crunch.

 

“You think you know a guy...”

 

“Wick, I'm sorry, man...”

 

Ryan raised a hand.

 

“Anybody care to enlighten me here?”

 

“Megan and I are moving in together,” said Bell.

 

“Michael! That's great. Congratulations! That's a big step!”

 

“Yeah, I'm pretty happy,” Bell sighed. “Or I was. Until I broke the news to Wick.”

 

“Leavin' me high and dry is what he's doin',” said Wick. “Since they're movin' in together, I'm on my own. I can't cover the entire rent, so I have to either move out or find a roommate.”

 

“I can look around and see if I can find a roommate for you,” Bell offered.

 

“Don't worry about it,” Wick frowned as he lifted the sandwich to his lips.

 

The dispatch tones sounded, followed by an alarm bell.

 

“ _Rescue 77, unknown medical, to the rear of 182 California Boulevard, cross street Mesa, time out 0754._ ”

 

Wick quickly wrapped his sandwich in a paper towel before following his partners out of the kitchen.

 

“ **Riding Tailboard”**

 

7:58 am.

 

Wick chewed sullenly in the back of the R.A. as Ryan drove. Bell stared back at him from the shotgun seat.

 

“What if I cover next month's rent?” he asked. “I mean, it's the least I could do.”

 

“I'll be alright,” Wick swallowed as he shrugged. “I'll just put an ad in the paper or something.”

 

“L.A., Rescue 77 on scene,” Ryan called into her headset's mic as she steered the rig into an alley behind a fast food restaurant.

 

The three paramedics pulled their gear from the rig to find a young man in his early twenties with sandy blond hair sitting on the ground, resting against the wall of the building, appearing somewhat unresponsive.

 

He was guarded by a large, growling Rottweiler.

 

“Whoa. Easy boy.” Ryan raised her hands.

 

The dog stepped closer and barked at the paramedics.

 

“L.A., Rescue 77, we need Animal Control at our location ASAP,” Bell called into his radio. “We have an aggressive dog blocking access to our patient.”

 

“ _Rescue 77, L.A.,_ ” replied a female dispatcher. “ _stand by for ETA._ ”

 

“I don't think we've got enough time to wait around for 'em to come scoop up Cujo,” said Wick, eyeing the dog cautiously. “We need to assess our patient.”

 

“Anybody got any ideas?” Ryan exhaled as she too watched the snarling obstacle.

 

“Yeah, I've got one,” said Bell as he opened the side door of the ambulance.

 

He returned with the remains of Wick's sandwich.

 

“Oh come on, man. Not my sandwich!” Wick hissed.

 

“For the greater good, brother,” Bell said as he stepped past him.

 

The dog took another step closer and barked at them again. Bell unwrapped the sandwich and held it high.

 

“Who wants breakfast?”

 

The Rottweiler paused and watched him intently. Bell tossed the sandwich several feet away. The dog scampered after it. While it was occupied scarfing up Wick's breakfast, Bell tied the animal's leash around a signpost.

 

“Nicely done, Bell,” Ryan said as they approached their patient.

 

“Hey, how ya doin' this morning?” Wick called, bending over the young man as he stretched on a pair of exam gloves.

 

“Wha...” responded their patient, his head drooping.

 

Ryan knelt on the pavement and opened an orange tech bag.

 

“Sir? Can you hear me?” she asked loudly as she cradled the man's face in her right hand. She used her right index finger to push up his eyelids as she shined a pen light at his pupils with her left. “Can you tell me your name? Do you know where you are?”

 

Her questions were met with confused silence.

 

“Whattaya think?” asked Bell, opening the BioCom's case and slipping on the radio headset.

 

“Pupils are dilated,” she said, slipping the stethoscope around her neck as she unfurled a blood pressure cuff. “He's warm, but just touching him, he doesn't seem to have a temperature.”

 

“City Base, Rescue 77,” Bell called. “We are on scene with a male in his twenties, approximately 5'11”, 190lbs., A.L.O.C.. Stand by for vitals.”

 

Ryan placed the stethoscope in her ears, then slipped the bell under the patient's shirt and pressed it to his chest.

 

“Heart rate's 130,” she wrapped the B.P. cuff around his arm. “Respirations are 20.”

 

She then inflated the cuff and studied the gauge.

 

“142/60.”

 

Bell nodded as he copied the information down and then relayed it to the hospital.

 

“Wick, can you go ahead and do a stick?” asked Ryan, opening another case.

 

Wick pricked the young man's right index finger and used the small glucometer to check his blood sugar.

 

“103.”

 

“Pulse-ox is 97%,” said Ryan. “I don't know what's up with this kid, but he sure took something.”

 

“Hey, buddy?!” Wick snapped his fingers before the patient's face. “We need to know. What did you take? Come on. Stay with us.”

 

Again, the patient simply stared at him. Wick glanced down at the green knapsack that sat beside their patient on top of a skateboard.

 

He rifled through the bag and nodded as he pulled out an aerosol spray can and plastic shopping bag

 

“Bingo,” he said, handing the can to Bell.

 

“Dust Away: _Compressed Gas Keyboard Duster,_ ” Bell sighed, covering his mic as he read the label. “He's been huffin' this junk.”

 

“Okay, I'm gonna start him on O-2,” Ryan said. “Wick, you wanna hook up the 12-lead? Junior here's gettin' a ride to the emergency room.”

 

8:48 am.

 

Ryan stood at the ER front desk, filling out the run report when Megan Cates appeared.

 

“Got your O-2,” she said, placing the oxygen cylinder in it's case on the counter. “Looks like the kid's gonna be okay.”

 

Ryan placed the form inside the metal clipboard and closed it.

 

“Good to hear,” she said, tucking her pen into her shirt pocket. “Hey, Michael told me that you're moving in together. I'm so happy for you!”

 

“Thanks,” the dark haired nurse smiled. “It just felt right, you know? So, have you seen that man of mine?”

 

“Down the hall, snack machine,” Wick said plainly as he rounded the corner, packing half a Twinkie into his cheek.

 

“Uh, thanks, Wick,” Megan said tentatively, forcing a smile. “How are you?”

 

He shrugged as he chewed, pushing the rest of the cake into his mouth.

 

“Well, okay. I'm gonna go find Michael, then.” she offered a quick wave before heading off down the hall.

 

“Oh stop it,” Ryan sighed, turning to Wick.

 

“Stop what?” Wick replied, leaning against the counter.

 

“Pouting. Get over it already and just be happy for your friend.”

 

“I _am_ happy for 'im,” he swallowed. “but rent in L.A. ain't cheap, Ryan.”

 

Megan crept up behind Bell who stood before the snack machine in the hallway, perusing the packaged offerings. She wrapped her arms around him

and hugged him from behind, resting her cheek against his back.

 

“Good morning to you, too,” he smiled, turning to face her.

 

“Wick hates me,” she sighed, looking into his brown eyes.

 

“He doesn't hate you. The news was just a shock to him, that's all.”

 

“We're doing the right thing, right?” she buried her head in his chest. “Tell me we're doing the right thing, Michael.”

 

He kissed the top of her head.

 

“We're doing the right thing.”

 

Three tones sounded from the radio on his belt.

 

“ _Rescue 77 on the radio, difficulty breathing. 172 Willow, cross street, Ventura. Time out 0855._ ”

 

“Rescue 77, show us responding from City Hospital,” he replied before kissing her goodbye.

 

“Be careful!” she called after him as he jogged down the hall.

 

The next day.

 

For the remainder of his shift, Wick had tried to fight off the desperate notion that he was going to end up living under the 101 overpass. He had called in a roommate ad to both the L.A. Times and Daily News in time for it to be printed over the weekend. The next morning, he tacked a copy of the ad to the bulletin board at the grocery store around the corner from his building, then returned home to help Bell finish packing.

 

6:22 pm.

 

The last rays of the setting sun stretched out across a pink and unusually smog-free sky as Wick helped Bell load the remaining boxes into the bed of Bell's vintage pickup. Megan sat in the passenger seat with the door open, her feet on the grass as she watched her boyfriend and his best friend attempt to suppress their emotions.

 

"So...I guess this is it," Bell sighed, offering his key to Wick.

 

Wick waved him off.

 

"Keep it. I might...um...lock myself out or something."

 

Bell forced a smile as he nodded.

 

"I couldn't have asked for a better roomie, Wick. You always kept things interesting."  
  


Wick tucked his hands into his back pockets and shrugged.

 

"What can I say?" he smirked. "I'm one of a kind."

 

"You can say that again. So uh...Megan and I...we should get going."

 

Wick folded his arms.

 

"Yeah, go ahead, you kids get outta here. Game's about to start anyway, so I..."

 

Neither man had noticed a young blond woman in a black leather jacket as she approached them.

 

"Can I help you?" asked Megan as she stepped from the truck.

 

"Hi. I'm so sorry to interrupt." the woman waved. "I was just wondering if one of you guys could point me to Apartment 5?"

 

"That's our...I mean, _my_ apartment," Wick replied.

 

"Oh, great!" she shook his hand. "My name's Chelsea Clark. I'm answering the roommate ad you put up at the grocery store. You haven't found anybody yet, have you?"

 

Bell and Wick exchanged an almost imperceptible glance, the universal glance that one guy gives to another whenever an attractive woman is in close proximity.

 

"Not yet," said Wick. "How about I take you up and show you the place?"

 

"Oh that would be so great! My building's going condo and I'm almost out of time and-"

 

"Well, I'll see ya at work, buddy," Bell quickly interjected.

 

"Yeah, see ya," Wick nodded before leading the woman up the walkway of the apartment building.

 

Bell leaned back against his truck as he and Megan watched them head inside.

 

"You think he'll be okay?" she asked.

 

"Yeah," Bell smiled. "I think he'll be fine."

 

Monday, 8:25 am.

 

Captain Durfee and his fellow captain, Pete Romero stood in the hallway, just outside of the station's second floor bathroom as a retching sound came from inside.

 

"God, who is that?" asked Romero, wearing a disgusted look.

 

"Aguilar," replied Durfee.

 

A minute later, Firefighter Carla Aguilar exited the bathroom wiping her mouth with a paper towel.

 

"Sounds like I have a sick firefighter on my hands," Durfee folded his arms.

 

"No, Sir...I..."

 

"We heard you, Aguilar," said Romero. "You got the flu or something?"

 

"No, Sir," the young firefighter answered. "Food poisoning. My friends and I went to this sketchy sushi joint in Pasadena last night..."

 

Durfee placed a hand on her shoulder.

 

"Go home, Boot. That's an order. You shouldn't have reported for duty if you were sick."

 

"I know, Captain, but I'm a rookie and I just-"  
  
"A sick firefighter's no good to me. Go on home. Get some rest. We'll see you next shift."

 

"Thank you, Sir."

 

She paused, before rushing back into the bathroom.

 

Meanwhile, Rescue 77's paramedics were on the apparatus floor below, prepping the ambulance for the shift ahead.

 

“So, tell me about the new roommate,” said Ryan, sitting on the bench inside the patient compartment, taking inventory of the drug box.

 

Wick slid the gurney inside the ambulance and locked it into place.

 

“Chelsea? Oh, she seems nice enough.”

 

Bell peered in through the rig's side door.

 

“Don't undersell it, pal,” he laughed. “She's a knockout. Totally his type, Ryan.”

 

“You mean Wick has a type?” Ryan closed the orange case. “Other than 'female'?”

 

Wick propped his boot on the rear bumper and retied the laces.

 

“I think I'll give her some time to settle in before I work my charms on her.”

 

“Nice of you to give her a fighting chance,” said Ryan.

 

“Wick, throw your gear on the engine,” said Durfee as he descended the stairs. “Aguilar's going home sick so you're riding tailboard.”

 

“Seriously?” asked Wick. “Captain, come on...”

 

“Did I hear right?” John Bridges called, sliding down the chrome fire pole between the trucks. “Is the hotshot paramedic being forced to ride Big Red with us lowly hose draggers? Did my little ears deceive me?”

 

As Wick and Bridges stared each other down, the tones echoed across the apparatus floor.

 

“ _Rescue 77, assault victim. 339 Renmar. Cross street Grand, time out: 0832._ ”

 

Ryan hopped down from the R.A. and pushed past him.

 

“Better grab your turnouts, Wick.”

 

He grudgingly grabbed his helmet and turnouts from the back of the ambulance and closed the rear doors.

 

Wick watched as Rescue 77 pulled out of the station and turned right, siren screaming. He sighed and opened the rear door on Engine 77 so that he could place his gear inside when Bridges blocked the opening with his outstretched arm.

 

“That's _my_ seat,” the veteran firefighter smiled insincerely.

 

Wick's shoulders sagged and he rounded the front of the pumper. He opened the opposite door to find Bridges still smiling at him from the other side.

 

Wick tossed his coat onto his seat.

 

“Bridges, my paycheck says _Firefighter/Paramedic_. I'm a jack of all trades, baby.”

 

“Yeah,” Bridges scoffed. “and master of none.”

 

The tones sounded, followed by the alarm bell.

 

“ _Engine 77, leaking hydrant. Riverside and Palmer. Time out: 0835._ ”

 

Captain Durfee pulled himself up into the cab and closed his door.

 

“You two will play nicely?” he asked over his shoulder.

 

“Of course, Cap.” Bridges closed his door as he settled into his seat. “I'll even let Lobo here use my favorite spanner to fix the hydrant.”

 

Wick slipped on his headset.

 

“You're a class act, Bridges. I don't care what the girls at the Fantasy Room say about you.”

 

Three minutes later, Ryan cut the R.A.'s siren as they pulled to the curb behind a police car parked in front of a small drug store.

 

Bell pulled the trauma bag from one of the rig's side compartments and followed his partner to a police officer who was talking to a middle aged woman that appeared visibly shaken.

 

“What've we got?” asked Ryan, nodding towards the woman.

 

“Oh, she's not your patient,” replied the officer.

 

“Over here,” a second officer motioned for them to enter the drug store.

 

They followed him inside to find a man in his twenties, laying on the floor, grimacing in pain.

 

“Apparently, this knucklehead tried to snatch the purse of that nice lady talking to my partner outside,” said the cop. “Unbeknownst to him, she takes jujitsu classes two times a week.”

 

“She flipped him?” Ryan asked, surprised.

 

“Like a sack of potatoes. He's complaining of back pain now, so we called you guys.”  
  


“Hey buddy, what's your name?” asked Bell standing over their patient.

 

“George,” the man replied. “God...my back...it's killin' me.”

 

“Can you tell me where it hurts?”

 

“Towards the...the small of my back...”

 

“Do you hurt anywhere else? Any numbness?”

 

“Kinda numb down my right side...”

 

“Sounds like a herniated disc,” said Ryan. “I'll go grab the back board and a C-collar.”

 

“Hey...” their patient moaned. “You...you guys aren't gonna tell anybody about this, will ya? I mean...it's kinda embarrassing.”

 

Bell held up a hand.

 

“Mum's the word.”

 

XXXXXX

 

“Wow, Wick. I am impressed,” said Bridges, standing on the sidewalk of a quiet residential street. “You actually remembered how to turn the bolt and everything.”

 

Wick clanged the spanner wrench against the hydrant.

 

“Even managed to find the hydrant by myself, too.”

 

Captain Durfee slipped off his turnout coat and tossed it into the engine's cab.

 

“Let's go, gentlemen. We've got inspections to do.”

 

Just then, a woman ran from a house across the street, cradling a baby in her arms.

 

“Help me! Help!” she shrieked. “My baby! She's not breathing!”

 

Wick handed the wrench off to Bridges and rushed to help.

 

“Let me see her, ma'am,” he said quickly, taking the lifeless baby into his arms. “Cap, she's cyanotic.”

 

“L.A., Engine 77, we have a medical still alarm at Riverside and Palmer,” Durfee called into his handy-talkie. “Roll me an R.A. for a baby not breathing.”

 

Wick gently placed the infant on the grass strip next to the sidewalk. The child, who appeared to be about a year old, was motionless and her lips had begun to turn blue.

 

He knelt and began CPR, using two fingers to perform the chest compressions.

 

Stanley Two Dogs, the rig's engineer, carried over the orange jump bag. He placed it on the sidewalk, unzipped it and retrieved the bag-valve mask, which he handed to Wick.

 

“Was she eating anything?” Wick placed the mask over the baby's face and squeezed the bag.

 

“No,” the woman replied. “She was just crawling on the floor while I was on the phone. I looked down and she was gasping for air. Please...don't let her die! Please!”

 

Bridges rested a hand on her shoulder.

 

“We're doing all we can for her. This guy right here is one of the best paramedics in the whole L.A. Fire Authority. Your daughter's in good hands.”

 

Wick leaned in close, head tilted, to check the baby's respirations and to detect any chest movement. He shook his head negatively and began another round of chest compressions.

 

“Come on, sweetness,” he implored the silent child. “Come on, breathe for me.”

 

He forced another breath into the girl's lungs and peered down her throat.

 

“Think I see somethin'.” he swept his pinky finger through the baby's mouth and pulled out a small pearl earring.

 

She remained still as Wick continued chest compressions. He squeezed another puff of air into her lungs, then lifted the mask and leaned in again. He smiled softly and nodded as he felt a gentle rush of air against his cheek.

 

“She's movin' air.”

 

“Oh thank God!” the girl's mother sobbed as her child took a deep breath before launching into a full wail.

 

Wick sat back on his heels and heaved a sigh. Durfee clapped him on the shoulder.

 

XXXXXX

 

“I swear, she flipped him,” Bell said dropping salad onto his plate as he sat at one of the tables on the station's patio. “Griffiths said the guy herniated two discs.”

 

Captain Romero shrugged, taking a bite of his burger.

 

“That's what he gets for trying to rob somebody, right?”

 

“So what'd you guys get up to this morning, Cap?” asked Ryan as she sat down with her plate.

 

Durfee wiped his mouth with a napkin.

 

“Wick here had a save. Unresponsive infant. Kid was cyanotic, choked on an earring. Wick brought her back.”

 

“Atta boy!” Ryan smiled as she squeezed Wick's shoulder.

 

Wick shrugged sheepishly.

 

“Any one of us would've done it. I just got to the kid first.”

 

“Not according to Bridges,” said Durfee. “he told the baby's mother that Wick was one of the best medics in the department.”

 

Sitting side by side, Bell and Ryan exchanged surprised glances.

 

“Whoa.” Bell leaned back in his chair. “You sure you heard him right, Captain?”

 

Bridges and Wick momentarily locked eyes before each looked away with faint grins.

 

“Yeah, I think ya heard me wrong, Cap,” Bridges replied, his mouth full of hamburger. “I said he was the _cockiest_ medic in the department.”

 

The firefighters' laughter was interrupted by the tones and klaxon.

 

“ _Engine 119, Truck 77, Rescue 77, EMS 9, physical rescue, traffic collision with entrapment. Grandview and Arleta. Time out 12:44._ ”

 

Wick stood instinctively as Ryan, Bell and the truck's crew pushed back from the table.

 

He shrugged and sat back down.

 

“Force of habit.”

 

Moments later, they could hear the ladder truck and ambulance below growl to life and roll out of the station, sirens screaming.

 

“Well,” Durfee sighed. “looks like the engine clears the table.”

 

The tones sang out again from the speaker mounted high on the wall.

 

“ _Engine 77, Task Force 28, Light Force 113, Engine 27, Rescue 41, Battalion 9, respond to the reported structure fire. 1791 Lattimer, cross street Woodley. Time out 12:46._ ”

 

The four firefighters rushed back inside and descended the chrome fire pole to the apparatus floor. In less than ninety seconds, Engine 77 roared away from the station.

 

Durfee tapped the keyboard of the MDC as he studied the small computer's monitor.

 

“L.A.'s got multiple calls,” he said, over the screaming siren.

 

“Sounds like we got a worker, Wick!” Bridges called, pulling on his heavy gloves. “Remember, wet stuff on the red stuff! Stay by me and you'll be okay!”

 

“Oh, don't worry about me, pal,” Wick replied. “I know how to handle a nozzle. Remember our duel? I wasn't the one who ended up on the ground, soaking wet.”

 

“Yeah, I still owe you for that one!”

 

Engine 77 soon pulled to a stop before a two story strip mall. Coal black smoke billowed out from the front door of a first floor restaurant.

 

“L.A., Engine 77 on scene, 1791 Lattimer,” Durfee reported. “We have a two story strip mall with heavy smoke showing from a business on the ground floor.

Have the assignment continue in Code-R.”

 

A man in overalls rushed over as the firefighters climbed down from the rig.

 

“We were renovating the Chinese restaurant,” the man said. “One of my guys dropped a torch onto a drop cloth and the next thing I know, the whole place went up!”

 

“Is there anybody still inside?” asked Durfee.

 

“No, no. Everybody's out. Aw, my boss is gonna kill me!”

 

“Bridges, stretch a line!” Durfee shouted as he lifted his mic. “L.A., Engine 77, we're initiating fire attack. This will be the Lattimer Incident; Engine 77 is Lattimer I.C..”

 

Wick stepped onto the pumper's tailboard and slipped an arm through several folds of hose, then dragged the supply line back to the hydrant on the corner, twenty feet away.

 

He quickly connected the hose to the hydrant, then joined Bridges just outside the front door of the restaurant. Both men knelt and donned their masks. The thick smoke had begun to bank down and rolled out towards them.

 

Bridges lifted the flat attack line and keyed the mic on his coat.

 

“Engine 77 Engineer, Firefighter Bridges. Charge the line!”

 

“Engine 77 Engineer,” replied Two Dogs. “Here comes your water!”

 

The flat hose snaked across the pavement as it swelled with water.

 

“Ready?” Bridges shouted through his mask.

 

Wick slapped him on the shoulder as he hefted the hose behind him. The two firefighters ducked low and entered the burning restaurant, disappearing into the smoke.

 

They were met with near darkness and enveloped by an ever-increasing heat which emanated from a dull orange glow several feet ahead.

 

Bridges cracked open the nozzle and unleashed a powerful stream of water as he and Wick ventured further inside.

 

Outside, sirens filled the air as the two engines and ladder truck that comprised Task Force 28 arrived.

 

“Task Force 28, Lattimer I.C.,” Durfee called into his radio. “have Engine 28 stretch a line and assist Engine 77 with fire attack. Light Force 28, check the businesses on either side of the restaurant for extension.”

 

Bridges and Wick pushed ahead, drawing closer to the fire. The sweltering heat had begun to permeate their turnouts. Ash and flaming embers bounced off of their helmets.

 

The stubborn fire refused to lay down, despite the heavy amount of water directed at it.

 

“You hear that?!” Bridges shouted.

 

“I don't hear anything!” Wick replied.

 

“I hear somebody! Up ahead! Take the line!”

 

Bridges handed the nozzle off to Wick and he crawled forward into the darkness, sweeping his hand along the wall.

 

Outside, one of the workers ran up to his foreman, shouting excitedly in Spanish and pointing at the building.

 

“Are you serious?!” the foreman replied before running back to Durfee. “Hey! One of my guys said there's still someone inside. He said Ricardo was in the storeroom at the back just before the fire broke out! They can't find him!”

 

“28! Step it up!” Durfee shouted to Engine 28's crew who donned their masks in the parking lot. “Fire Attack from I.C., we have a report of a possible victim still inside, possibly in the back storeroom. Do you copy?!”

 

“Fire Attack, copy!” Bridges replied. “I'm searching now!”

 

“Hey! Bridges! Hurry up, man!” Wick called, muffled through his mask. “It's gonna flash in a minute!”

 

Bridges knocked several boxes out of the way with his left hand. He brushed against an arm and seized its wrist.

 

“Got 'im!” he shouted.

 

In just a matter of seconds, the heat jumped in intensity. The room was possibly seconds away from exploding.

 

Bridges dragged the lifeless body past Wick towards the front door. Wick kept the hose line trained on the crackling flames as he moved backwards.

 

There were loud pops and crashes all around them. Wick shut down the line, then slipped an arm around the victim and helped Bridges carry him outside.

 

Just as they exited the building, a fireball erupted through the front door and the plate glass window exploded, showering them with debris as both firefighters shielded the victim.

 

Engine 28's crew stepped past them and unleashed a stream of water at the fire as Captain Durfee ran over.

 

“You men alright?” he asked as Rescue 41's paramedics tended to the victim.

 

Wick sat back on his heels and slipped off his helmet and mask.

 

“I'm okay,” he coughed, pushing back his hood. “You good, Bridges?”

 

Bridges pulled off his mask and heaved a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair.

 

“Yeah,” he coughed. “I'm good.”

 

Both men looked at the building and then back at each other, sharing a look as if to say, ' _that was close_ '.

 

Relieved, they shook hands.

 

The next morning.

 

8:15 am.

 

Following the morning changeover with A-shift, the weary members of C-Shift headed home.

 

Ryan and Bell walked alongside Rescue 77 as Wick descended the stairs behind them, his duffel bag slung across one shoulder.

 

“So I talked to Megan last night,” said Bell as they strolled through one of the open rear apparatus doors. “We're having a little housewarming party tonight. Everybody's invited. Bring a date if you want. Seven O'clock sound good? ”

 

“Hear that, Wick?” Ryan tossed her bag into the back of her Jeep. “Now's your chance. You can ask your roommate, What's Her Name.”

 

“Come on, buddy,” said Bell. “Perfect opportunity to get to know her better.”

 

Wick shrugged as he tucked his hands into his pockets.

 

“Eh. Maybe.”, he smiled. “We'll see.”

 

“Yeah,” Bell offered a knowing grin as he slid in behind the wheel of his pickup truck. “See you guys tonight.”

 

As he pulled out of the station's parking lot, Bridges stalked out of the station carrying a brown bomber jacket over his shoulder.

 

“Alright, where are they?” he demanded.

 

“Where's what?” asked Wick, tossing his bag inside his truck.

 

“My macadamia nut bars. I had two left and they're gone!”

 

“Oh not this again,” Ryan waved as she drove past.

 

“So what're you blaming me for?” Wick closed the door of his truck. “You blamed me last time they went missing. I didn't do it then, and I didn't do it now.”

 

“Nobody else in this station likes macadamia nut bars, Lobo,” said Bridges, resting his hands on the truck's door. “We've already established that.”

 

Wick shrugged and started the engine of his truck.

 

“Hey, the truck company's had a few guys transfer in since then. Maybe it was one of them. I thought after this last shift, we had sort of a new found respect for each other. Kinda bums me out that you would still accuse me after that, to be honest.”

 

Bridges sighed and looked away.

 

“Okay, fine. Sorry I accused you, Wick.”

 

Wick slipped on his shades and offered his hand.

 

“Don't worry about it, man. See ya next shift, fire boy?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bridges exhaled and shook his hand. “Next shift.”

 

Wick nodded, then drove out of the station's backyard.

 

Bridges smirked as he watched him leave.

 

“Candy thief.”

 

Wick rounded the corner and had driven several blocks until he stopped for a red light. He flipped on the radio; The Mighty Mighty Bosstones' _The Impression That I Get_ played from the speakers.

 

He pulled a half eaten macadamia nut chocolate bar from his bag and took a bite. He laughed, nodding his head in time to the music as the light turned green and he drove off.

 

**END**

 

**In the next all new _Rescue 77..._**

 

A local news commentator sets his sites on the L.A. Fire Authority. Meanwhile, Ryan receives attention from a movie star and Rescue 77 takes part in a potentially explosive rescue.

 

_**Rescue 77** is property of Spelling Television. Any similarities to actual persons, places or incidents is purely coincidental. All firefighting and medical information may not be accurate._

 

 


End file.
